


On Invisible Strings

by TeaTimeDesigns



Series: Puppet Show [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Violence, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gender Issues, Hypnotism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Psychic Violence, Science Fiction, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaTimeDesigns/pseuds/TeaTimeDesigns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With someone unknown pulling the strings, the Almighty Tallest Red and Purple find themselves stranded on a backwater planet. Now the Empire has declared them dead, its new Tallest blaming the Resisty for their murder- They've no choice but to ask for help from the one Irken they’d hoped to never hear from again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. String You Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project that started on a lark, then bit like a shark and simply refused to ever let go. As such it is my first fandom-related project in a number of years. Started as a loose concept for an Ask-Blog, expanded into a comic and then finally converted into a fanfic, I’m always happy to listen to comments, suggestions, or take questions.   
>  Although I’ve poked around the Zim fandom in years past I can only hope to provide some small amount of entertainment for the ‘new’ crowd, as well as any of those who’ve been hanging on all this time. 
> 
> Thanks for your time, ya’ll.  
> ~Zam

Through the silent darkness of space comes a menace:  a nearly incalculable number of ships, slowly swarming about the great flagship known only as _The Massive_ , like bees to their Queen -- the great hive comprised of the unsurpassed power of the Irken Armada.

 

The rumbling sounds of explosions echoing slowly down the halls was never anything to be concerned over; everyone aboard the _Massive_ had long since become used to the vibrations that trembled through her hull as she coasted forward, as if swaying with the lullaby of explosives, while her Armada made their way across the span of the universe, pressing ever onward in their desire to expand the Great Irken Empire.

 

Tonight, of course, was nothing new.  Both Tallest knew very well that outside the great windows of their suite would be brilliant fireballs of color and light, flashes of power to herald either the arrival of the great leaders or the fall of yet another unfortunate vessel that just happened to be in the the way. 

 

However, the persistent buzzing of the intercom proved it would no doubt be a busy night for the Irken leaders.  Red did his best to ignore the minor irritation and turned another page of the book in his hands.  He might not be of the opinion that Zim would be able to discover something of value, were it to crush him, but even the Tallest had to admit that some of his translated versions of this " _hyooman_ litrature" weren’t all that bad.  While he _had_ hoped to finish his copy of _War and Peace_ in relative silence, he knew as soon as Purple began to shift beside him, this wouldn’t be the case.

 

Indeed, it was only a moment later when his co-ruler broke the silence, his voice muddled from sleep-cycle, “I don’t care who is at the door or what they want-- Red, go answer that and toss whoever it is out the nearest airlock.”

 

Twitching his antennae and huffing softly, the only move Red bothered to make at this request was the turn of another page, “Why not go do it yourself?”

 

Purple’s response was a low whine and, once again, Red was reminded of just how very grateful he was for his partner’s unusual fondness for sleep.  It may not have exactly been proper Irken behavior, but at least when he first woke in the morning, Purple’s tone was softer, less grating.  Hell, Red could almost say it was pleasant, when compared to his usually piercing tone.   He’d long ago come to the conclusion that, at least to a certain extent, his Co-Tallest made himself sound loud and obnoxious on purpose -- only forgetting to bother when he’d become increasingly tired or distracted.

 

“Can’t,” was his obstinate reply, “I’m asleep.”

 

Red rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to thump Purple across the head with his book.  Pur had taken to wearing a mask to bed that let him sleep, while his Co-Tallest stayed up all hours of the night reading or going over battle plans.  Even annoyed as he was, he could never justify attacking his partner while he was blinded.

 

It was true that violence may have been a large part of their culture, and displays of dominance for one Irken over the next were commonplace, Red would never give anyone (including Purple himself) cause to think he was actually mistreating his partner.

 

Besides, Pur just wouldn’t like it.

 

Not that he currently liked their intrusive guest either, it seemed, as he growled at the continued buzz of the intercom.  Red couldn’t help but chuckle, “You shouldn’t try the growling thing, Pur.  It’s always just sad when you do it…” and then finally tapped the flashing green light of the intercom at its place on his nightstand.  He tried to mask the amusement in his voice as he addressed whatever member of their crew was so bent on suicide.  “For your sake, this’d better be good.”

 

The equally frantic and static-ridden voice of the Advisor to the Tallest, Rarl Kove, came through the line.  “Thank goodness I got through!  My Tallest, are you all right? Please- It’s an emergency; I must speak with you at once!”

 

Red frowned at the little box for a moment, his antennae going flat.  Rarl had always been a bit of a Doomsayer (literally, every plan he and Purple had ever come up with was predicted to cause a great disaster, the likes of which the Empire had never SEEN.  And maybe they’d made a few mistakes, but they _had_ been made Tallest when they were rather young.   Everyone makes mistakes… very…big…explosive…costly…mistakes…. But something, perhaps his old warrior’s instinct, told him to take not. “It’s Rarl,” he offered as Purple grumbled irritably and tried to bury himself beneath expensive sheets. “He sounds pretty worried.”

 

“Well he _should_ be,” Purple sniped, “You’re going to throw him out an airlock and let me go back to sleep. You’d have to be a complete moron not to be worried about that.”

 

After allowing himself another chuckle at his partner’s discomfort, Red keyed in the code for their shared suite, “No, I’m not going to throw him out an airlock, I’m going to let him in.”

Any amusement he may have had however died a swift death the moment Rarl’s shadow had crossed their door.  His muddy eyes, a yellow-green, darted nervously back and forth as if he expected to be attacked at any moment, while Red’s antennae perked, suddenly able to catch the sharp-sweet scent of blood from further down the corridor.

 

“My Tallest! We’re under attack!”

 

The Advisor’s own reedy voice was cut off as he lunged sideways, only just narrowly avoiding a pillow to the face. Red glanced back at Purple, now sitting upright in bed, still blindfolded. (Pur always did have great aim… It was a shame Rarl had become so adept at dodging.)  “So let the GUARDS handle it, you idiot! That’s what they’re THERE for.”

 

With his piece said, he gave one last snarl before collapsing back into bed, snatching one of Red’s own pillows to pull over his head and muttering something which the ruby-eyed Tallest was fairly sure had to be, ‘Kill him now, kill him dead.’

 

Knowing the situation would go nowhere until Purple had decided to stop sulking, Red resigned himself to dealing with the situation, swinging his legs off the bed and gathering his abandoned shirt off the floor.  He didn’t bother stopping to actually pull it on, modesty had never been something he worried about (that was Pur’s nonsense) and far more concerned with the growing unease he could feel coming off the shorter Irken in waves.  “How bad is it? Are we needed on the Bridge?” he asked, lowering his voice so his partner wouldn’t be able to complain about the noise.

 

Rarl’s eyes had widened, his own reply a far harsher whisper, “The Bridge? No, Sir!  My Tallest, we’ve enacted the Miyuki-Protocol; We must get you both to safety immediately!”

 

Even Red’s gaze widened a little before glancing back over his shoulder at the bed.  “…Miyuki? Really?”

 

Almighty Tallest Miyuki had been a venerated, beloved figure in her time, one of the most well-respected Tallest in known history in fact, before her premature demise.  She had paved the way for large-scale space travel and fostered missions of exploration across the universe, even commissioning the _Massive_ from Irk’s then ally, Vort.

 

Although she had never lived to see her flagship completed, the protocols and failsafes set in place during her reign were still active. As a traditionalist, the protocol which bore her name was meant to be one of preservation.  

 

If the _Massive_ had become compromised, the reigning Tallest were to be escorted to an unmarked vessel programmed with a course set to a safe-house on a pre-determined planet. Once the threat had ceased, the _Massive_ could send out a signal to be picked up by the Tallest's ship, and they would be able to once more return to the mobile seat of the Empire.

 

The severity of the plan required there to be no other alternatives; for it to have been enacted now certainly didn’t bode well for their evening.  Red exhaled quietly before giving his Advisor a nod.  “Just… give us a moment, will you, Rarl?”

 

The shorter Irken nodded, wringing his hands as he bowed his head, antennae wiggling while he retreated backward quickly. “Of course, my Tallest. I’ll be right outside the door; please do hurry- Time is of the essence.”

 

With a deep sigh, Red turned and regarded the lump of covers now taking up the center of the bed. “Come on, Pur… I know you were listening. We’ve gotta go. I promise you can sleep in the cruiser, all right?”

 

To his credit, Tallest Purple didn’t attempt to feign ignorance, instead sitting upright and fixing Red with a dirty look. “You just _had_ to answer the door, didn’t you?”

 

His partner only shrugged.

 

“Well, fine,” he huffed again. “But as soon as we get back, I want a new law. No coupes, mutinies, hostile takeovers, emergencies or snack shortages during night hours.”

 

“We’re in space, Pur; the hours don’t matter. Though, I’m certain the Resisty would be happy to comply with your new law.”  Red grinned while Purple groaned and continued his complaints with a dramatic wave of his hands.

 

“You know I HATE that name! It’s so stupid! It’s just like this one- Who’d want to name a Tallest-Saving plan after one who was mysteriously **murdered**?”

 

Red paused a moment, head cocked slightly to the side, one eye slightly raised,  “…Yeah, okay… I can see how that’s a little weird, but I’m …sure they named it _before_ the incident.”

 

“Murder,” his partner corrected, finally pulling himself out of bed.  “Almighty Miyuki was murdered. Almighty Spork was murdered.  The Massive’s under attack-  You know- I don’t like this track record; we need better guards.  These must be defective; I mean, what good is a guard who can’t kill a few intruders?”

 

Unable to come up with a suitable argument, more that he really didn’t want to think about just how ineffective their current guards must have been, Red just waved Purple off and busied himself with getting dressed.  “Come on, let’s get out of here before Rarl has some kind of fit or something.”

 

Purple huffed, still pulling on his own boots, “You know I really hate that guy…”

 

Red laughed, brushing past him, well aware he’d follow behind, “Yeah, I know you do.  Hate him all you want, but do it when he _isn’t_ trying to save our lives, all right?”

 

Huffing lightly and sticking his tongue out at his Co-Tallest was really the best he could do, though Purple did do his best to keep any further complaints to himself.  Instead trying to ignore the hushed conversation Red was currently having with their Advisor as the three of them moved carefully down the hall.  To tell the truth, for such an "urgent" situation, they were certainly moving quite a bit slower than he might have liked, but it was a fact he quickly became grateful for when his boot found something slick against the floor and he went tumbling forward with a less than dignified squeak.

 

Red caught him, of course, without so much as a second thought, pulling him upright once more and flashing him a grin with too many teeth.  “Careful there, Pur, it’s a bit of a mess out here.” 

 

Purple blinked in confusion, antennae perking curiously, baffled by the fact that his Co-Tallest still had a careful grip on his arm, as if he expected him to fall again. He frowned back at Red, who’s expression smoothed into something else, the sort of severity he hadn’t seen in years.  Pulling back a little he shifted to look over Red’s shoulder and sucked in a breath as quickly, as if he’d been punched. 

 

Rarl stood a little ways in front of them, shifting uneasily at the pause in their journey, his eyes fixed solidly at his own feet.  Beyond him lay the slumped figures of individuals the Tallest had seen only hours before, wishing them a pleasant evening as they retired to their suite.   

 

He could feel Red hesitate before he let him go, ruby eyes steady on his back as he crossed the hall to kneel beside one of the fallen guards.  His antennae twitched nervously, eyes roving over the other Irken. “There’s nothing,” he called back after a moment, “No burns, no blasts, no cuts.” Carefully, Purple rolled the guard forward, grimacing as the action only prompted a fresh wave of blood from his mouth.  “It’s as if his pak shorted and he bled out from the inside.”

 

Pushing himself to a stand, he let the guard fall, trying to ignore the sludge of what he was sure had once been grey matter steadily creeping towards his boots.  “What the hell is this, Kove? Are all of them like this? What sort of weapon – Red, I’ve _never_ seen anything look like this, what kind of weapon functions that way? It’s like something triggered an Invader’s self-destruct, but there’s no sign of any external damage.”

 

“…My Tallest?  What exactly are you doing?”

 

Purple quickly became aware their Advisor was staring at him as though he’d grown a second head, while his Co-Tallest was sporting a grin that _really_ didn’t suit their situation.  “What did you expect me to do?” he snapped, irritably, making his way back to the pair and fixing the shorter of the two with a glare.  “Poke him with a stick to check if he’s dead?”

 

Laughter echoed through the corridor, cut off by Purple’s abrupt snarl of, "Really not the _time_ , Red," and Rarl just looked between his Tallest with confusion.  “It… I meant no disrespect my Tallest-  I simply did not expect those sorts of questions.  I-  I’m not certain _what_ is happening, my Tallest-  You were of course my primary concern- We… We really shouldn’t waste any more time; it’s best if we keep moving.”

 

“Then you’d best start moving, hadn’t you? You’re the one who knows where we’re going.”

 

“Of course, my Tallest!”

 

Though he usually moved with a shuffling gait, no one could deny that Rarl Kove could certainly make time when he needed to.  Even Purple had to admit the increase of pace was admirable, though the further they went, the tighter the sense of dread that pulled at his chest became.  Red continued to chatter at the two of them, his conversation kept purposefully light, a method he’d been fond of using in the past; he was trying to keep up morale, keep them distracted.  It only made Purple more aware of the problem, the body count climbing as they went. 

 

He waited for the right moment to break, for Rarl to slip into the conversation with Red, providing an easy distraction for Purple to slip away and retrace their steps, moving swiftly and silently down the hallways accessing the damage as he went.  The walls were coated in splatter, sudden burst patterns that made no sense, the damage sudden and irreversible.  Whatever was here- whatever it was must have come sudden and silent, without warning. 

 

They hadn’t gotten all that far from the Tallest’s suite in their initial progress, for that at least he could be thankful as he waved a claw across the entry-pad and ducked quickly into the room, making his way to one of the two immense closets.  It was only now that Purple began to hear the start of the ship’s alarms, the sound of far-off voices and flash of the emergency lights,  too little too late for some perhaps.  But if he and Red were going to be up against, well… up against _whatever_ it was, he would make damn sure the two of them were prepared.

 

“Come on, come on- Now where did I put that thing?”

 

He muttered to himself, antennae flat as he tossed one useless article after the next from his closet until finally coming across a large metal case in a brilliant violet color.  It was coated in dust, half-buried under that ridiculous make-shift stage he and Red had made a few years ago, but still, it was there.

 

Flipping open the locks and giving a quick once over of the contents he moved on to the other half of the room, making sure to grab a few extra things that, should the event come that they be stranded for any length of time,  he thought Red might appreciate having on hand.   It was a tight fit to be sure after he’d packed everything he could and forced it closed. The case may not have been as full as he would have liked but had never been designed for its new, now extra contents…

 

 He felt more than a little bit foolish then, racing back down the hallway.  Here he was, Almighty Tallest Purple, tearing through the _Massive_ in his pajamas with an outdated standard issue kit and a puppet of himself in hand.   If he was lucky, Red would never have noticed he was gone.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed, today was not to be his day to be lucky.  He could hear them, a little ways down the hall, in a corridor further down; if he was able to hurry then perhaps-

 

“Ugh,” Red grimaced a little.  His antennae hung at the sides of his head, pressed close as though it could block out the overwhelming scent.  “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen quite _this_ much Irken blood since Impending Doom One... You’re right, Pur, we need better guards.  Why don’t you get on that and hire some new ones, Rarl?”

 

The Advisor didn’t even bother to hide his expression of distaste, “Of course sir, I’ll take care of it as soon as we’ve finished cleaning the decks, shall I?”

 

“Don’t we have people for that? I could’ve sworn we had people for that, don’t we, Pur?” Red turned back to the empty hallway and froze his steps, expression going dark.  “Hang on- Where _is_ he?”

 

Rarl paused, turning around himself and trying, praying to any sense of logic that he would be able to keep his temper in check-  These two, ever since they had come aboard, he would swear they were little better than – _meets_ , always causing trouble, always upsetting the proper order of things, always making _something_ explode.  He exhaled carefully, trying to keep himself steady, to not fidget, “I’m not certain, sir.  My Tallest was right behind us before.  Perhaps he’s forgotten something?”

 

He cringed at the sound of Red’s snarl, backing away as the Tallest swung his fist into the side of a wall. “Of all the idiotic- What on Irk could possibly be so damn important that he’d try and risk his neck like that!? When I find him I’m gonna-”

 

“Red!” Purple gasped as he rounded the corner, bringing himself to a halt.  “Hold on, I’m here- I’m here, Red, I just had to-”  Red was on him in a moment, antennae pressed forward aggressively, hands at his shoulders.  “Red, please, really, we can do this later, I just had to grab some things in case we needed them, that’s all. Let’s just get to the ship and we can argue then-” He offered a nervous smile, antennae laid flat, submissive. “All right?”

 

“All right?” Red growled, “No, it isn’t alright, what the hell were you thinking, Purple? What the hell was so important? You could have gotten yourself killed!  Are you hurt?”  Glancing over him quickly, he may not have found any sort of injury but he certainly did find the little hand-puppet hanging against the handle of the case in Purple’s claws.  He snatched it up, shaking it as violently as he could. Purple leaned backward, fairly certain that Red wanted to shake _him_ just as hard. “… You… You went back for... In case we needed… _PUPPETS_?”

 

 

“Are you DEFECTIVE, as well as stupid now? No-,” he spat, shaking his head.  “No, you know what? Don’t answer that. Just, come on. Let’s get out of here, before you manage to get us _both_ killed.”  He tossed the likeness aside, where it fell with a sick sound as it hit. Leaning forward into Purple’s space and taking him by the arm, Red squeezed.  “No more puppets; if I have to see another damn puppet this entire trip, I’m going to put _YOU_ on strings.”

 

“Now let’s _go_.” Yanking the other Tallest along behind him, Red turned to snap at Rarl, who had stood by in silence. “Lead the way.”

 

“Yes, my Tallest!  Of course, my Tallest. This way my Tallest…”  He scurried onward down the corridor, followed closely by his leaders and perhaps more than a little thankful for the silence that seemed to have been commanded out of Red’s ire.

 

Descending the stairway level by level into the Hanger was just as quiet, Red pulling ahead of the two briefly enough for Rarl to glance back, haltingly at Tallest Purple, who still hadn’t raised his eyes from the ground.   The Advisor cleared his throat, speaking softly, almost as if giving a peace offering, “I am… sorry about your doll, my Tallest. That was rather unfortunate.”

 

“It wasn’t a doll, Rarl.  It’s a _puppet_.”

 

The shorter irken only smiled back at his Tallest, almost as if he found the correction amusing, “Aren’t we all, my Tallest?”

 

Purple looked up sharply, fixing him with a strange look, but Rarl had already moved on to join Red, waving his hand in the direction of a smart looking cruiser.  “This is it, my Tallest. As you know, according to the Miyuki-Protocol, the ship’s course is set to take you directly to the pre-determined planet where a safe house with a secure communications channel has been established.  This model is nearly impossible to track, so you shouldn’t worry.”

 

“No one will ever be able to find you in space, my Tallest.”

 

Purple paused his steps to join the two of them, his expression mirroring Red’s own, something between bewilderment and concern.  Well awake by now with his mood anything but positive, the high grate of his voice (and the irritation therein) was unmistakable.  “You know, Rarl, I never thought it was possible, but I think the more time we have to spend with you, the creepier you get.  No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

 

Their Advisor turned back to them, expression neutral. “…Thank you, sir.  I’ll certainly keep that in mind.  Please understand, my Tallest… everything I’ve ever done is solely for the good of the Empire…”

 

He bowed low, antennae wiggling in his salute, “Stars guide you to journey’s end, my Almighties.”

 

 

 


	2. Burn You Down

True to form and just as Red had expected, the moment Purple set foot on the ship he headed straight to the nearest comfortable surface. Considering that the ship had been outfitted with the sole intent to ferry a Tallest, there was, luckily enough, a couch (Vortian made, as per Miyuki’s taste) directly on the bridge and long enough to accommodate his height. 

 

Purple left his case somewhere it would be easily accessible and curled up immediately, as Red went on keying up the systems and initiating take-off.   While his partner’s ire seemed to have cooled slightly, he took little chance, keeping his thoughts to himself as he pulled his knees up against his chest and closed his eyes, measuring out breaths one by one, with antennae tucked close to his head.   Ignoring the sounds of the ship, the rumbling purr of the engines, the soft beep of her various systems as they went about their tasks, he listened only for the sound of Red’s retreating steps as he left – only then allowing himself a strangled sob.

 

Meanwhile, Red, having little to worry about as the ship was set on auto-pilot, contented himself with becoming a little more familiar with the Runner they were on.    She was custom-built, of course, and though it looked as though her paint had been updated, he imagined much had gone unchanged over the years.  Much larger than a Voot, but still not large enough for a sizable crew, the ship had been designed to be able to accommodate the Almighty Tallest and up to three of their Advisors, Guards or Council -- or, as the case was currently, two Almighty Tallest.

 

It boasted an on-board suite, which Red supposed he would have to mention to Purple later  (he’d be liable to appreciate that,); a sizable cargo hold, although it held only four crates he was fairly sure had been here since the beginning; a kitchen, empty but possessing the sort of equipment that could make some of the cooks onboard the _Massive_ jealous.  And, of coursec its own (very small) engine room --its door was jammed, which was frustrating; he would have loved poking around the old-school Vort-tech.

 

All in all, he couldn’t complain about the state of the vessel itself.  It wasn’t _his_ ship. Of course, nothing would ever come close to the _Massive_ , which Red still insisted was _his_ ship, despite the fact that it technically belonged to "any" and "all" "Almighty Tallest" that were and ever would be. But it would do for the short term. There were just a few small discrepancies that he’d have to take up with whomever was supposed to be in charge of these things later.  For now, he just had to make sure the journey was as peaceful as possible.

 

Of course, the best way to do this, Red concluded, was to give Purple a little space. So long as he wasn’t in the same room, he didn’t run the risk of saying something -- or, more likely, of _Purple_ saying something else they’d both regret. With limited options, Red settled for poking around the ship’s suite, something else he imagined hadn’t been changed much since Miyuki’s time, though he could easily see some of Spork’s influence scattered here and there as well.   Spork’s reign had been thankfully short, a little brutal perhaps as the Former Tallest had the drive of conquest and a thirst for strengthening the Irken military, but none of the strategic know-how to back it up. And yet, there had still been time enough for those in charge to update Miyuki’s protocol.

 

There was something odd about that. something that set him on edge, making his antennae twitch.  A quick glance over the room gave way to a more thorough going over, drawer by drawer, shelf by shelf in pursuit of something to ease the discomfort that had begun to gnaw at the back of his brain like some sort of parasite.  In the end, he’d left the suite in shambles and moved on to the cargo hold, using spider legs to tear into the archaic crates (nobody used wood anymore; it just didn’t make sense.)  Like the break of a time capsule, he found himself swimming in echoes of the Tallest that had never had the chance to use a ship like this. Her crew had prepared her for their needs and left it at that, never bothering to return and collect what was left behind.

 

It wasn’t the shadows,  Miyuki’s robes, Spork’s unusual collection of armor and laser-enforced blades (though those were certainly on Red’s ‘Ooo Shiny!’ list of the day,) or even the outdated pieces of technology that bothered him.  

 

It was the fact that throughout the ship,  The _Tallests’_ ship, there was not so much as a whisper of the Empire’s _current_ Tallest.  Had they gone so long without using the failsafe that they just didn’t bother updating the ship’s contents?  Did they simply expect him and Purple to have died, as their predecessors had, long before they might ever have need of it?

 

What might have been a pleasant cruise through space for a former Tallest was hardly any more than a brief stint on a ghost ship for Red; and though it might be frowned upon, he’d never been very fond of anything that might lean towards the superstitious.  He was quickly growing to need a distraction from his distraction, and the single best distraction for Tallest Red in the whole of the Empire had and would certainly always be Tallest Purple.

 

He’d expected to have to wake him, was even prepared to do so in the most irritating way possible, but was surprised to find Purple sitting upright, almost where he’d left him, staring fixedly at the wall in front of him as though it held the answers to the universe…  It was unsettling, but Red just shrugged it off as he usually did and made himself comfortable in the pilot’s seat.  “You know,” he offered, letting amusement seep into his tone, "for someone so concerned with our wellbeing and the good of the Empire, Rarl’s got to be the most useless Advisor I’ve ever met,  not that he’s much use in advising as it is. I mean, we never listen to him anyway, but I’ve just been through the ship and there’s not so much as a can of nacho cheese.”

 

He waited a beat after Purple failed to respond, then grinned and cast a glance back over his shoulder “I _did_ find some of Miyuki’s old dresses though, might fit you, if you’re curious.”

 

Again, nothing. Rolling his eyes, Red settled for tapping out their current coordinates, bringing up the projected estimate for their landing.  “I’d be more concerned about it, the lack of food, I mean, not you wearing Miyuki’s clothes.  But the warp drive on this thing is fantastic; it looks like we’ll be there in roughly an hour or two.  Still, with Rarl slipping like that… Maybe we can fire him after we get back, huh?”

 

Purple didn’t move but did make a small sound of acknowledgement.

 

“That usually cheers you up, doesn’t it?  How many times have you fired him now? Thirty-seven, I think, wasn’t it?”

 

“Thirty-six,” Purple mumbled, this time prompting Red to actually turn round in his chair.  A quick glance at the ship’s clock proved they’d been en route no less than four hours,  something which would have later unsettled Red, when he thought about just how long he’d spent trying to figure out why there was no sign of him on his own ship (and just how long Purple must have been staring at that wall.)

 

“C’mon, Pur… You’ve been sulking over there for hours now.  You can’t _still_ be mad about the 'defect' comment, can you?  You know I didn’t mean any of it. I was just… tense, is all.”

 

Purple tightened the grip he had on his knees, bending into himself a little more.  “No, it’s got nothing to do with that, and… You were right, I don’t know what made me grab that stupid puppet; it was dumb.  This is just-- it’s stupid… It’s so, so stupid, but you have to promise not to laugh, all right?”

 

Red couldn’t help his scoff, before nodding once, “All right, I won’t laugh.”

 

Turning the chair around, Red made his best attempt at a serious, considerate expression as Purple raised his head, just a little, glancing back at him.  “Remember you promised…”

 

“Yes, yes,” he held up his claws, “I promised.”

 

“It’s just… I might… maybe… perhaps, just maybe, have this little issue about… well… something to do with being afraid of …well, flying… And... um… Space.”

 

It was surprising how quickly Red’s expression could go from ‘I am taking you seriously and am concerned for your well-being’ to ‘Are you fucking shitting me?’, before he finally just ended with a soft laugh. “Wow, you really _are_ defective.  We’re IRKENS. We’re a space-faring race.  We travel the universe, conquering, In ships. Flying. Through Space.  Come on, Purple-- You can’t be serious.”

 

Purple scowled at him briefly, before ducking his head again, muttering a few (creative, as far as Purple went) curses.  “It isn’t funny, Red.  I know it’s stupid. You know I’ve never done well; I always hated traveling.”

 

“Aw come on, that isn’t true,” Red scoffed again, waving a hand as he stood.  “You did just fine whenever our unit got shipped out. I never heard you complain then.  You just locked yourself in the supply closet because you were convinced that Zim was going to try getting hold of the-- … Oh.”

 

He blinked, rubbing the back of his head.  “Wow… Uh… How’d I miss that?”

 

Purple rolled his eyes, though Red could tell he was fighting not to smile.  “You can miss anything, if it isn’t something you want to see, Red.    It isn’t always a problem… I mean, being on the _Massive_ isn’t any trouble at all; it’s effectively a mobile planet, other than a few… HORRIBLE instances I don’t want to even think about, you can hardly even tell you’re in space unless you spend all your time staring at it.”

 

“I can’t believe I never thought about it though; and you were such an _awful_ pilot too. Sweet Irk, you spent over half the simulations with your hands over your eyes-- come to think of it… How _did_ you pass the sims, anyhow? I never did figure that out… I mean, obviously mistakes happen; ZIM passed after all…”

 

Purple coughed, looking anywhere other than Red. The floor was a good option.  “Well… I maaaay have reconfigured the processor to give me better results the night before our final evaluation.  Or bribed Zim to do it. Or something like that.”

 

Red actually laughed, shaking his head.  “You know, Pur, every time I think I’ve managed to figure you out, you go and surprise me.  I’m not gonna say it isn’t stupid, 'cause _wow,_ is it ever stupid… Why even bother?  If they’d found out, you could have been stuck in some janitorial squad or something. If you didn’t want to get dragged around space, why didn’t you just transfer?   When you actually bothered applying yourself, your scores were fantastic; the Medical Division would have taken you on in an instant or even--”

 

Purple cut him off. “You said we should be Elite… You said we would make the greatest team there ever was; the four of us were going to conquer the Universe. That’s what you wanted to do, You said we should be Elite, so we were.”

 

Blinking in surprise again, Red finally approached Purple, letting his hand hover over his shoulder for a moment before carefully setting it down, gently at first until Purple raised his own, laying his claws across the top of Red’s.  “You became Elite, became an Invader, because I told you to?  Huh… I guess that’s why you’ve never listened to a thing I’ve told you to do since, right?”

 

“That’s right,” he replied, smiling softly.

 

“You’re crazy, y’know,” Red grinned, giving his partner’s shoulder a quick squeeze, “But crazy or not, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You remember _my_ scores.  Best on Devastus, I could’ve done those simulations blindfolded; little Runner like this one? Not a problem.”

 

Purple only nodded, seeing no harm in indulging Red’s ego for once. “It’s true,  You are the best pilot I’ve ever seen; the new recruits are still trying to beat your records.”

 

“Hah! Let them try.  Remember how I handled the _Massive_ when she went crazy? I took care of that, didn’t I?  And I don’t even have to pilot this one; everything’s automated and safe as you please.  We’ll come out of hyperspace in an hour and zip right on down planet-side.  I’m here,” he beamed, antennae raised proudly. “Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”

 

Abruptly, there came the sound of metal wrenching in on itself, and the ship went dark, alarms blaring in a near-deafening roar as the auxiliary lights came up again, glowing their muted crimson.   //ATTENTION!// called the ship's voice,  a pleasant, well-educated female both Tallest could recognize as a copy of Miyuki’s personality interface.  //SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG!//

 

Purple’s claws dug sharply into the top of Red’s, his eyes widening as he sucked in a breath.   Miyuki’s automated voice continued its declaration in a surprisingly positive tone whilst the two Tallest exchanged a mutual look of terror.

 

//The ship has suffered core meltdown, which is rather unfortunate for the both of you!  The Estimated time of your HORRIBLE pain-filled doom is in less than fifteen minutes-- Oh dear, that’s not good at all, is it? Support Systems are DOWN, I’m afraid -- My shields and weapons systems are DOWN.  Communications Support is also down!//

 

Fairly sure the back of his hand (as well as Purple’s shoulder) was bleeding by now, Red glanced back at the ship’s display, as it merrily flashed a series of statistics before bringing up a video on the main screen.  Music filled the bridge as four Vortians, dressed in prisoners uniforms, appeared in shadow.  //The radio-caster is in perfect working order, and oooh, it’s that song from the Vortian-Boy Band!// 

 

The AI seemed to sigh happily.  //I do so love this one…//

 

Both Tallest blanched, neither wanting to be reminded of Miyuki’s odd fascination with their former ally -- a fact which was quickly tossed aside as the AI paused its cheerful sing-along to helpfully add, // Life support systems at fifty percent -- Power dropping at ninety percent, eighty percent, seventy percent, sixty percent -if you plan to do anything, my Tallest, I would certainly suggest you attempt doing so now!//

 

A quick glance back down at Purple and Red was fairly sure the lavender-eyed irken had started to hyperventilate. He couldn’t really worry about _that_ , however, pulling away sharply in a motion that sent Purple falling backward, staring wide-eyed at the screen while Red leapt back into the pilot’s seat and immediately letting his claws dart over the controls.  “Okay-- no problem.  We’re fine, hang on-- I’ve just got to get us out of the automated systems and put her into manual overdrive; that’ll just take me a minute or two; we’ll be just fine.”

 

Screens flashed rapid lines of code and status reports. Red’s claws moving rapid-fire while his eyes darted over the information, and in the background, four Vortians and an AI crooned about the tragic loss of their home and the sting of betrayal.   Red let out a holler about the same time Purple choked on a sob.  "THERE! Now to get us out of hyper-space, and we’ll just come in for a landing on the nearest available planet.  No problem, it’s no problem--”

 

// _Oh, Oh... We had a good thing goin' --  Oh, Oh, baby, why’d you burn us down? Oh, Oh... We never meant ta hurt'cha_ \-- Power levels now at forty-five percent, thirty percent...//

 

“YES, THANK YOU. I CAN SEE THAT!” Red roared, punching the ship’s engines hard, as she broke from hyperspace, another blaring alarm signaling the failure of the navigation systems.  “We’re out!” He turned, grinning wildly at Purple. “See? Just like that, best pilot you ever knew, right?”  He laughed, perhaps a little too high, a little too insane.  “Didn’t even put us near Resortia either, just that stupid little dirt-ball Zim’s on. Now all we’ve got to do is avoid him and we’ll be just fine!”

 

// _AND NOW WE’RE BURNT TO THE GROUUUUND!!!_ Ten percent-- five percent-- System at--//

 

The AI cut off with a slow drag of syllables, and Red sucked in a breath, closing his eyes tightly for a moment.  “Okay, Purple, we’re coming down hard and fast. We don’t have breaks, all right?  So just--Grab something and _hold ON_.  We’re gonna be fine.”

 

The ground came up in a rush, the sound of impact echoing in Red’s antennae with the kind of clarity he knew simply wasn’t possible.  He laughed again, softer, quieter, “We’re gonna be just fine.” Whispering again as though it were a prayer,  “I promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The scent of smoke, mixed with fuel and hydraulic fluid, did much to mask the sickly-sweet smell of Irken blood, but little to mask the overwhelming pain.  Just opening his eyes a sliver was difficult, and nearly impossible, he discovered, when it came to his right.   He must have taken quite the hit to his right side, though he was fairly certain he’d woken rolled onto his left. Perhaps he’d managed to reposition himself somehow to lessen the aggravation of the wounds… 

 

Blurrily, he tried to come back to himself long enough to access the damage.  The worst of it certainly did seem centered towards his right: cracked ribs, lacerations, surely; he could feel the sluggish flow of blood down the side of his face. His hearing seemed to be damaged as well, which explained the terrible throbbing just above his temple; something must’ve happened to his antennae.  Breath rattling in his chest, exhaustion began to take over, and he let his eyes fall shut once again. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.  They’d made it… They’d made it, and now he could rest, just for a moment or two.

 

//REACTIVATE.//

 

His good eye snapped open, body going tense. Purple knew that sound; he’d heard it once, only once before, on another cursed planet, the sound of it making his insides twist and the blood freeze in his veins.   He heard it once when the two of them, he and Red, had been young, scared, and alone.

 

Rolling himself over, he forced his limbs to cooperate once again, thankful at least that his limbs seemed mostly intact. No broken bones there, at least.  The wound in his side shifted painfully ,and he choked clutching lightly until his claws came away stained pink…   He could hear the snap of broken wires and the sizzle of fire, steadily blooming somewhere amidst the broken glass and fragmented electronics… 

 

They were going to have to move quickly, it seemed, and if he was right, which he feared he might be, Red wasn’t going to be in any kind of shape to be moving at all.  Rising shakily to a stand, Purple swayed on his feet before he stumbled, falling sideways against the wall, catching himself on its jagged edge.  He choked out a soft laugh.   If he wasn’t more careful, he imagined, he might lose more than his thumbs.

 

He retrieved his case. Thankfully, blessedly, the damn thing had survived, tucked underneath the couch, which stubbornly had remained where it was bolted to the floor. They would need it now more than ever he imagined, a thought which was only assured after he found Red, twisted beneath the wreckage of the ship’s console, mangled Pak giving off tiny, ominous sparks. 

 

The rumbling press of heat refused to allow Purple more time to discern anything more than the fact that his co-Tallest was indeed still breathing, soft, shallow breaths that indicated at least his body yet lived. The state of the rest of him would have to be dealt with later.

 

Ignoring the screaming protest of his own injuries, the fresh wave of blood that flowed deep from his side, as well as the frantic warnings set off in his brain that Red shouldn’t be moved at all, he worked as quickly as his own body would allow to pull the mess of cables and dented metal off of his partner. 

Fire had crawled swiftly up the hallways now, catching light to the floor, climbing the walls like a starved thing, but Purple paid it little heed as he hauled the other Irken upright, pulling Red’s arm across his shoulders and half-dragging them both through the shattered remains of the windshield.   His steps were slow, jagged movements that left a sluggish trail of mud behind them. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know where he could go. But for now, so long as the climbing flames stayed behind them, he really didn’t think he cared.

 

They’d landed, it seemed, in some sort of park  -- not too close, but not too far from a residential area.  If they were luck,y there would be somewhere on the planet he could find an antennae large enough to broadcast a distress signal.  He’d just have to find it and get them there, without either of them bleeding to death or stumbling onto the native inhabitants.

 

At their best, the two could have easily dealt with a problem, but now, leaning up against the tree line, Purple knew that neither of them had any chance of surviving a direct confrontation, even if humans _were_ \- as stupid as Zim claimed them to be.   He gave Red another once-over as he tried to come up with possible options.   The damage seemed to be superficial for the most part: plenty of bruises, a few lacerations that looked worse than they actually were, a dislocated shoulder (easily fixable.)  The real damage, or what was cause for concern, had been the blow to his head and the extent of possible damage to the ID Pak. 

 

The chassis, itself, had been nearly caved in, and without having a secure place for them to hide, Purple really didn’t want to even attempt to discover what sort of damage might have been caused internally.  His own Pak may have been better off, but even that was starting to wear as he’d continued to push his body to its limits though it did provide a glimmer of hope.

 

//Location of nearest medical facilities approximately--//

 

Blinking, his good antennae perked. “Medical facility… Ah! That’s right…”  He grinned down at Red,. “You may have wanted to avoid the little menace, but every standard-issue Invader’s kit contains the necessary equipment for treatment in the field.  Looks like we’ll be giving our friend, Zim, that visit he’s always asking for.”

 

All he’d have to do is pinpoint the general location of the wannabe-Invader’s base, and then, if luck held out, Zim would be as stupid as he remembered.

 

Zim turned out to be even _more_ stupid than he remembered, and there would no longer be doubt in Purple’s mind that humans were, indeed, a race of morons -- there was no way that obnoxious, little green hous,e with its hideous decorations and eyeball-searing windows could be considered normal.

 

“We’ve found him…  I wouldn’t have trusted it, if it was just my Pak picking up the signature for Irken tech, but this…. _This_ is pure Zim…  He’s got to be the biggest idiot in the whole of Irken history, the worst example of an Invader our race has ever seen.  But you know, Red… right now, I don’t think I could love him more.”

 

Those last steps felt as though they might take a century to complete. Logically, Purple knew it hadn’t been that long, or even that far from the crash, but he certainly _felt_ as though he’d already made his way across the planet, dragging his partner along as dead weight.   He couldn’t blame Zim _entirely_ for the disaster of his base (yes, yes he could -- he really, really could) though, he shuddered as the creepy eyes of the gnomes followed him towards the front door.

 

Years before during Spork’s brief reign, Standard Issue Kits had been a thing of wonder. Irkens were renowned for being able to blend in seamlessly with a native race, crippling systems of government from the inside, observing from perfectly structured illusions.  THEN... Then, Impending Doom One had happened -- Zim’s fault,  all Zim’s.  The resulting destruction had eliminated the Invader Core almost entirely, devastated the Irken population, and nearly destroyed over seventy-five percent of their home planet.  The required resources for rebuilding the damage built up a staggering debt, and as a result, _everyone_ suffered.  Kits today were little better than a smeet’s plaything, cobbled together as best they could be with hope and a prayer.

 

Of course, their race wasn’t well known for prayers.

 

The front door swung open the instant Purple had reached it, something of a blessing and a curse as he stumbled, finally unable to push himself forward, and hit the tiled floor with an ominous thud.  He wheezed and supposed he should be grateful he’d taken most of the impact, himself;  Red didn’t need that sort of damage.   Though, he was fairly certain his ribs, once cracked, now perhaps trying to puncture organs, would have been happier without the extra weight. 

 

Raising his head, he stared blearily up at the SIR unit, which stared back at him with its odd clear-blue optics.  It waved in a frantic gesture, voice high and grating. “HI!!!”  Purple blinked once… then laid his head back on the tile.

 

Oh, yes, they were doomed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

//MASTER. YOU ARE REQUIRED AT THE FRONT DOOR.//

 

The Computer tried to be responsible, he did.  It was difficult when you spent every day trying to maintain control of a house filled with _morons_ , but he’d like to think he’d managed well so far.   However, currently his master, the Master’s Houseguest (‘Minion-Assistant’), Skoodge, and Mini-Moose were rather preoccupied. The three of them sat around a table, deep in the center of Zim’s base, staring intently at the cards in their hands --  or… not-hands. (The doomsday device did not have hands,  but seemed to be winning.)

 

“Hrrn…. Zim does not have any two's…. Go fish.”

 

//MASTER,// Computer tried again, Zim waving him off.  “Yes, yes. Let the robo-parents deal with it.”

 

//Uhh…. I really… don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir… The Tallest--// 

 

Snarling, Zim tossed down his hand of cards, Mini-Moose darting down to stare at them while Skoodge looked pointedly away.“ The TALLEST will receive another shipment of filthy Earth-manufactured goods on SCHEDULE.  Can’t you see I’m involved in VERY important business right now?  And _WINNING_.”

 

//No, you aren’t.//

 

“SILENCE.  Zim is WINNING.”

 

“…You ,uh…you really aren’t, Zim.” Skoodge offered carefully, cringing back in his chair when the shorter Irken rounded to glare at him.  He had never been more grateful than when Gir burst through the door, leapt up, and slid dramatically across the table on his knees (…did Gir even _have_ knees?) scattering cards everywhere ,before grabbing Zim’s head, smashing his cheeks in, and screeching in his face.   “MASTER! MASTER!”

 

Zim flailed desperately for a moment, before toppling backwards out of his chair and onto the floor while Gir remained stationary, left holding air.  “WHAT.  What is it Gir?” He spat with a growl. “WHY does EVERYONE want to interrupt me today?!”

 

Gir,  it seemed, had decided to conduct a fan-dance with the handful of cards that had remained, while Skoodge busied himself collecting the rest from the floor,  “Iiii’ve got no idea!  BUT! BUT!  Mommy and Daddy came to visit and they look just AWFUL!!!”

 

“…Eh?”

 

//AHEM.  Master?  The screen.// Computer prompted.

 

“Ehhh?”  Zim, Skoodge, and Mini-Moose all turned to face the main video screen. Gir turned to the opposite direction, waving cheerfully at nothing.

 

“COMPUTER!!” Zim roared again as he took off in a dead run towards the elevator, with Skoodge close behind, “ **Why** didn’t you tell me the Tallest had arrived!?!”

 

Left alone, once again, Computer just… sighed.


	3. Just to Tie You Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! ;D
> 
> Once again, I’m thankful for everyone taking the time to read this little fic, for your kudos and reviews and always look forward to any thoughts or questions. ;3
> 
> This chapter gets its own warning for OC’s as it’s actually an introductory chapter for one in particular who will later be fairly integral (in his own way) to the storyline. I’d also like to mention that the comic-book hero referenced here; Heto- Belongs to badluckalice~, without whom I would get far too distracted.
> 
> Thanks also to my beta, the dearest, sweetest, most patient Flamingo I know.
> 
> Without further delay, onto the fic!

* * *

 

 

The vast and mighty Irken Empire was well known for its merciless pursuit of universal conquest, especially their disturbing methods of converting entire planets into vessels for a singular purpose. Or in an extreme case, an entire planetary system into a shopping mall.  One of the better-known of these planets was Callnowia: the largest corporation in at least four galaxies, producing everything from Germ-Vision goggles to indestructible dishware and knives that toasted bread as you sliced it.

 

Most of the planet’s surface had long ago been converted to an automated delivery system for its products, the factory, itself, located beneath in constant motion to produce, package and ship all that could be ordered from Callnowia’s vast and ever-expanding catalogue.  Still, there did remain a single city, located on the eastern side of the planet.  It served to house the workforce and was filled not only with countless apartment buildings but towering offices specializing in Quality Control, Marketing and of course, Customer Service.

 

One such office is where we find the continuation of our story.  The building was nothing extraordinary, much like the rest: tall, unwelcoming, and made of the same grey-violet metal that covered the rest of the planet.  Inside, past the Lobby, after eight flights upward in the elevator, the doors opened to long hallways and rows upon rows of cubicles.   To the right was a section maintained entirely by blueviolet-grey aliens, the once denizens of the planet Vort.  But this story has nothing to do with them. No, this one veers to the right, down rows of Irkens, each speaking rapid-fire into their headsets, to focus on cubicle of a particular Irken, far taller than any of his co-workers.

 

The walls of his workspace were busy, covered in certificates of excellence, honorary mentions, and Employee of the Month award,  all framed with great care and displayed with no small amount of pride.  His desk was covered in small puzzle boxes, useless knick-knacks, and even a few action figures -- including a limited edition release of Almighty Tallest Red, of which he was particularly fond.

 

If one were to check his browsing history, they were sure to discover he spent most of his day browsing the vast universal-web, looking at pictures of Etren (a species similar to the Earth feline,) chatting on Net-Wrks, or browsing fan sites for his favorite comic books. 

 

 A flight jacket chimmed in Qutharian fur and emblazoned on the back with one of the many Irken insignias was tossed over the back of his chair, currently engaged in a rather precarious balancing act.  This particular jacket was also signed on the inside pocket, for it was an authentic replica, modeled after the jacket worn by the famous hero of adventure comics, Heto.  More specifically, he had worn the jackett in the dangerous desert races of the planet Xethar, in the Trilar quadrant.  Only a handful of them were ever produced and even fewer signed by the author. It also happened to be its owners prized possession.

 

That owner, the Irken himself, was as we have mentioned, tall, very tall, indeed.  And considering that the Irken race measured height down to the very last millimeter, one can only begin to comprehend the extent of just how important it is that we stress his tallness.

 

His skin was a pleasant pale shade of green with dark freckles dotted over his cheeks.  His antennae were broad and straight, curling in ever so slightly at the tips and constantly twitching, although he seemed perfectly relaxed. He was leaning back in his precariously balanced chair, waving his hands as though conducting a space opera as he spoke to his latest customer of the day, boots kicked up and across his small desk.    His eyes, when open, proved to be an odd combination of light mint green offset with a soft chocolate color, an unusual combination which was in fact replicated in his ID Pak.

 

He was dressed in the typical green and black-black, with-dark-brown, uniform of the Call-Center, though had apparently added the accent of two additional leather belts across his right thigh.  His voice was pleasant enough, warm and smooth with the subtle undertones of an accent as he spoke,  cheerful and optimistic for the benefit of the customer he had on the line, though those around him knew he was often just _that_ happy... Somehow.

 

This particular Irken, a simple telemarketing employee and easily defined geek, is the center of our story today.  And while he didn’t know it yet, he was about to have a very, very, VERY long day.

\---

Mint hummed thoughtfully, nodding along with the sound of the woman on the line as she prattled on in her query for the latest model of the Quick-Clean-Eco-Friendly-Cooker System.  He’d already carefully lead her through everything included with the promotional offer, the statistics, and was now overviewing the warranty.   “Oh yes, of course, ma'm.  All our products have a complete one-hundred percent guarantee against electrocution, acid leakage, overheating, implosion, explosion, or high levels of radiation up to and including being the center of a nuclear fallout.”

 

With the rumble of indignation on the other end of the line, he could feel the moment his blood ran cold, antennae standing straight on end. The chair made an unholy sort of clang as it hit the floor when he pushed it upright.  “… _Really_ , sir?” 

 

He could practically _feel_ the alarms start to go off, bright terrible colors flashing before his eyes as each and every one of his five stars burned away to nothing in the blaze of an unsatisfied customer. Zipping  his chair forward, swiftly back to his desk, he laughed nervously, “Aha…ha! I am,” he stumbled quickly, bidding words to come to him, his accent coming in a little thicker in his haste.  “I am just SO sorry about that, sir!  I cann’a- cannot believe my mistake-  You just… Honestly, sir, you have the most melodious voice that I’ve ever had the fortune to hear, and I could simply not imagine--  Do you sing professionally?”

 

He was well aware of Reves, who had to be standing on his own chair in order to peer over at Mint with his beady red eyes, and stuck his tongue out at the other Irken, all the while nodding along with his customer, who by the greatest of fortunes, seemed to have been taken off guard by the question. “Oh no?  Really?  Well you _should_ , sir!  Positively, I insist you have quite the talent--  Unharnessed potential, that’s what you have, m'good man.”

 

He bent in on himself, claws flying rapid-fire across the keyboard as the gentleman on the line seemed to fluster. “Hah, yes! Truly, I do think so-- Oh, look at this now; I don’t know how I missed this, but you just happen to be our 1800th customer of the day!  Yes, that’s absolutely right-- Oh yes sir it _is_ \- a good thing.  You qualify for a FREE GIFT!  Mhmm, oh yes, It is nice, isn’t it?  Oh-,well, of course! I would just _love_ to hear your rendition of the new Vortian Falls release…”

 

Mint recoiled sharply, not a moment later, toppling out of his chair as the sounds of what seemed to be a chorus of ten-thousand small animals dying in the heat of a burning sun came through his headset.  Yanking the offending piece of tech down around his neck and away from his antennae, he lay on the floor, allowing himself a moment to collect his composure before crawling up to his keyboard once again and pressing the ‘SEND PARCEL NOW’ button with a little more enthusiasm than he ought.

 

“Hah… Oh my. Oh my, really, sir, that was… indescribable. Oh no-- No, thank _you_... I’ll just send your gift along now, and it should be right there; you have a _WONDERFUL_  day, now… Yes, sir! Ta!”

 

Dropping his headset onto his desk, he collapsed backwards, a hand thrown over his eyes and a softly muttered curse escaping his lips. “Great Green Monkey tap-dancing on a trisket, that was... was...”

 

“Completely horrifying?” Reves offered from where he hung over the edge of his cubicle and into Mint’s, grinning broadly.

 

“A right bloody wreck is what it was,” Mint agreed before pulling himself upright and grinning right back, “And I _nailed_ it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Taking the near-disaster as a sign from the Tallest that he should perhaps be a little more careful in the details of his work, Mint dove into his work with a vengeance, righting his chair and rolling back to his desk.  Reeves just rolled his eyes, cursed his good mood, and went back to his own calls.  There were far worse things he could be doing, after all.

 

The day went fairly well, and really was fairly average for the most part… (The next issue of Heto’s Adventures wasn’t due out for another couple of months due to the Author’s hiatus, so all was quiet on that front.) Calls came in slowly, each having one simple problem after the next that could be solved in less than five minute intervals.  (Did you turn the power on, ma’m?  Have you removed the product from the box, yet?  Did you try peeling the orange, before putting it into the blender?)

 

The only eventful mark for his morning was while he was re-enacting the conquest of Kadimex: Tallest Red valiantly fighting against the giant bone-crunching Vesthar, a vicious ravager ten times the size of any Irken with giant scythes for arms -- when he was taking a call from a recently- widowed woman who had purchased last month's special body-compression suit set.   

 

She seemed, well, terribly cheerful for a _widow_ , as she explained in great, graphic detail the events that had lead up to her call.   Mint did his best to keep his tone even, though he was fairly certain that the morning’s earlier serenade must have damaged his hearing more severely than he’d thought… “So... fr’give me if I don’t understand, ma’m… But what you’re saying is our product caused your husband to _explode_ … But you _don’t_ want to file any sort of claim….?”

 

There was a long pause as she happily continued on, describing once again in great detail the purchase of her new beach house, paid in full from her husband’s insurance.  “Oh… uh… Well… Yes, that’s what we’re here for, ma’m… You’re quite welcome.”

 

It didn’t happen often, but every once in a while Mint knew he had every reason to be thankful that the Irken race didn’t try to maintain relationships the same way the rest of the universe seemed to. It may have been true, the idea of being surrounded by beautiful exotic aliens and engaging in grand adventures was appealing, but the reality seemed particularly harsh.

 

And explode-y.

 

There were a couple other calls.  Some  fel-faced twit from the Wayl nebula that needed a serious attitude adjustment and felt it was appropriate to insult everything from Mint’s name, to his accent, to the unfeeling robot arm who had given him life.  (RUDE.) Or the long expanse of static that was interrupted by bursts of hysterical sobbing and laughter. (He filtered that one back to Quality Control.) He was _fairly_ certain he recognized the voice of at least one of their Vortian technicians amongst all that noise, but for the most part, the rest of the day was uneventful.

 

He was able to check in on the various auctions he’d had his eye on, look over the news (which seemed rather minimal this afternoon as the only thing he could get were a couple of outdated reports on the integration of the latest planetary systems into the Empire,) and even managed to briefly go over the latest gossip on Net-Wrks. (Jerry was apparently still being harassed by the account claiming to belong to leader of The Resisty, who had been repeatedly hitting on the Announcer in new and interesting ways for the past month or so, while Sizz-Lorr was complaining about the constant barrage of it all on his dash.)

 

Lunch wasn’t _required_ ; in fact, many of his Irken co-workers never bothered with it, but Mint had always found, with his increased height, an equally increased appetite, one which his Pak never did seem able to keep up with.   The result was usually taking lunch over on the Vortian side of the office, a habit the horned aliens allowed at first only because he was willing to pay for everyone’s delivery order but kept encouraging because they enjoyed having an Irken around that didn’t try to remind them of the conquest of their species at every turn.

 

Mint himself had always felt it was better to have friends than enemies. And if you were assigned to a single task for the entirety of your existence, you might as well get along with the other individuals sharing that space with you, right?

 

After the allotted lunch hour, his time was spent clicking mindlessly at one of the many Net-Book gaming features and taking the occasional call; he was left doing his nightly reviews, filing completed claims, and then finishing up his report for the night.  

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he was finished rising from his chair and stretching himself out, until each and every bone in his spine had popped, most of his co-workers had long since left. Pulling his jacket on and setting quietly down the dimly-lit hallways, he’d pause now and again to wave to another straggler or call cheerfully out to their night janitor, Tom Kha.   The elevator had its own usual late-night denizens: Missy, a very large Irken with a very _loud_ personality Mint was fairly certain had to share a genetic strain with Sizz-Lorr; Trk, a neurotic fellow that handled some particularly tricky claims; Nip, always grumpy, always busy, never satisfied; and Mo, tiny, and new… Poor, precious little Mo was still terrified every time a customer yelled at him, but he would learn… He would learn.

 

Out into the chill of the night and the quiet thrum of the city, the tall Irken waved once again as his companions dispersed, then finally turned and made his way to the tram-stop.   A uniformed guard stood still as a statue beside the sign, giving Mint a rather sideways glare as he seemed to process that he hardly came to the green-eyed Irken’s waist.   Mint smiled brightly, nodding at him before he clasped his hands at the small of his back, happily humming the theme of his favorite radio program.

 

He didn’t think he’d seen a guard (the official type) in ages, not since he’d left the Hatchery, but it was always nice to see new faces and make new friends.  “Lovely night, isn’t it?”  he offered, though the roar of the tram swallowed away his new companion’s reply.

 

Following the same pattern he always did, three steps to the top, four seats down, to his usual spot, Mint didn’t even bother to open his eyes, content to resume his humming as the tram barreled on down the streets, buildings passing them in a blur.   If he’d bothered to do so, he might have noticed the other occupants of this particular car were also of the guard-type.  It was four seats up, three steps down, once they hit the fifth stop, and Mint went pleasantly on his way.    His building was no more or less spectacular than the rest, but still, it was home, and if he were perfectly honest, which he usually was, he was very happy to be back there once again.

 

He had more than enough time to sit back, relax with some snacks, and listen to a radio program or two while he let his Pak recharge. The elevators here weren’t as smooth as those at the Call-Center and, unfortunately, it seemed tonight they’d been acting up again.  So , with no more than a long dejected sigh at the ‘Out of Order’ sign, he moved past them and up the stairwell.

 

Climbing six flights of stairs was, in no way, his favorite activity, but was in fact a necessary evil.  And if one were to speak of evil, they would have to include a description of Mint’s neighbor;  she was a creepy, hunched over little thing. He was fairly sure she was ancient, that she’d been there since before Irken’s had Paks, since before the Tallest; and boy, she was creepy.

 

She stared at him intently, with her wrinkled face and narrowed eyes, as he walked past, swiping his key card across the pad on the doorway.  “G’night, Madda,  hope you have a lovely evening!” was called back, as always with a smile and a wave. 

 

Just because she was the definition of evil did _not_ mean he should be impolite…

 

Still, he did have a habit of shutting the door a little bit faster when she was hovering in the hallway. Letting out a long exhale at the pleasant beep of the alarm system, he leaned heavily back against his front door. “Home sweet home, lad…  Now… what’ve  we got for tonight, mm?”

 

Talking to himself, when he hadn’t anyone else to talk to, had become commonplace and helped distract him a little bit from the twinge of pain that shot angrily up his right leg.  Seemed he may have to turn in a little earlier than expected, tonight.  Pushing off the door and turning on the lights as he went, the kitchen seemed the best option; a good helping of carbonation and sugar was always a cure-all for anything; so, heading to the fridge it was.

 

“Les'see… Well, definitely need t’make a trip out here soon. Stock’s running low…” Shifting several cartons aside and pushing back a half-eaten cake, he finally settled on one of the large cylinders of Irken-Bbanded soda.  Tapping the top idly with a claw, he hummed again as he turned round, shutting the refrigerator door behind him.

 

It hadn’t been a very memorable day, he’d think, when he was looking back on this later.  Not much had happened.  Yet, when he stood there, faced with a small squad of guards wearing the Tallest insignia, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d respond.  Later, he might look back and think it hadn’t been a memorable day but, for now, all he could do was pop the tab and take a slow drink.

 

“Sup, gents?   Would y’like some?”

 

To be fair, it was really all he _could_ do before the nearest guard thrust out his staff, sending a violent arc of electricity through his chest and into his Pak.  His last thoughts, before the world went dark around him, were that he really should have taken that extra overtime.

 


End file.
